Three of Swords
by Joydrop
Summary: *slash!* Draco figures out a new way to get to Harry - through his best friend.
1. Musings of a Dragon

Title : Three of Swords   
Author : Joydrop   
Rating : Tame for now; may eventually turn R or NC-17   
Pairing : Various slash - mainly D/R/H confusion   
Disclaimer : While this work of fiction does belong to me, the characters and background universe belong to the always talented J.K. Rowling. No disrespect of her books or 'indecent' portrayal of these characters is intended. This is, as always, simply a poor fan's work.   
Warning : SLASH! Don't like it? Don't read it. See that back button on your browser? Go on now, squint. See it? Thought so. If you don't want to read this, than you should click that button right about... now.   
Spoilers : All four books.   
Archive : Ask and ye shall receive.   
Extra : I wrote this fic basically as a challenge for myself - and a challenge it has been. Now I see why this pairing is rather rare. Mucho thanks to Shiawase & Xella for the beta read!   
  
  
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There was little that bothered Draco Malfoy quite as much as Ron Weasley.   
  
That defiance. That attitude. That spirit that practically screamed to be broken and defiled. The urge to leave Weasley shaking with humiliation and rage much like Lucious left -- no, he wouldn't follow that train of thought. Not right now.   
  
It'd be easy, if he could only figure out _exactly_ how. Weasley was made out of poorly crafted, well-worn materials, like his robe. The trick was finding the right frayed thread to pull to make it all unravel in yards of thin, breakable string.   
  
He was simply having a difficult time finding the damn thread, that's all.   
  
Weasley wasn't his real target though. As much as he wanted to hurt and dominate the redhead, this wasn't being planned solely for _him_. Weasley was hardly important enough to be the target of a real plan.   
  
No, Draco's target was Potter. He'd realized, some time ago and to his great disgust, that he desired the other boy. Despite the fact his mother was a Mudblood and Dumbledore adored him, there was still the undeniable aspect Potter was nice to look at. All slim muscle and unruly hair and perfect green eyes -- very nice indeed. So he started to watch him, even more than usual, looking for a plan of attack. A way to get Potter to notice him in the same light or at least a way to drug him and haul him off to a disused classroom. It came to him slowly, oh so slowly, during his watching that Potter... he _was_ special. Not just a cute face and a nice ass. Not for the reasons that his stupid fanclub thought. Not for that scar on his skin, but just because he was _Harry Potter_ and that was special all by itself.   
  
During his quiet observations, Draco made a starting discovery. Well, he'd discovered quite a bit, like how Potter tended to bite his lower lip gently when he was thinking or nervous, how his eyes were this perfect shade of green, how he had a favourite quill -- eagle feather -- that he used for most of his classes and work, how he seemed to find a strange but deep joy in simply flying, how -   
  
- how Potter was obviously smitten with Weasley.   
  
That observation hurt. It stung deeply, though he knew it shouldn't. He had hadn't been exactly civil to Potter and his little friends, yes, but he was _far_ better looking, better off financially, and likely better in bed. So _why_.... Why did Potter look at Ron bloody Weasley like that and not him?   
  
A Malfoy does not take such an insult lightly. A Malfoy seeks revenge. A Malfoy _gets_ his revenge.   
  
So he'd take Weasley. Show Potter what a tramp his annoying best friend really is. How _worthless_. After he'd utterly break Weasley and drop him off in a gutter some place, he'd go to Potter. Apologize for how poorly he's treated him over the years. Say how he thought, so innocently of course, that he wanted Weasley -- please! -- but realized he only desired Potter. Ask if he'll ever forgive.   
  
And because he's Harry Potter, because of who he is and because he needs _someone_ there to show him affection, to take Weasley's now vacant place, he'd be forgiven in an instant. Draco knew he could make Potter happier than Weasley could ever dream. Simply because Potter was _his_.   
  
Weasley would pay a high price for his temporary ownership. 


	2. Potions Class

This, Ron thought, was definitely not a good day.  
  
He'd been woken up at the crack of dawn, along with the rest of his dorm, to find Dobby the psychopathic house elf covered in a pudding of some sort and wailing about wanting to bring the great Harry Potter a midnight snack -- only it wasn't midnight and the floor was now covered in said snack. Unlike the rest of the boys, Ron hadn't been able to fall back asleep after the rude interruption so he spent the rest of his morning productively counting the number of times Neville could snore in a minute until Harry finally woke up again and the two of them got ready for the day. Breakfast had been an odd ordeal as the Creevy brothers had managed to get a seat near Harry and had prattled on about how great he was while Harry hid his face in his hands and Ron hoped that he wasn't turning green from all of the hero-worship. Luckily, Hermione eventually shooed them off, saying that the three of them needed to study.  
  
Which, it turned out, they did indeed need to do. They arrived at Potions only to find a malevolently smirking Snape silkily informing the class that there would be a from memory only test on the past three potions brewed. It was thought at first that it was some sort of surprise quiz -- until Seamus pointed out that the Slytherins didn't look surprised at all.  
  
It was here that Ron found himself, madly stirring a Furricus Potion. The thick, black Doxy fur was matting in a disgusting lump at the top of his cauldron with the Hippocampus hair and it was starting to resemble something Crookshanks had coughed up on Neville's shoe the other day. Ron made a face at it, wishing it would dissolve into the purple liquid already, but felt a bit better to see that Harry was having much of the same luck. As Snape swept towards the back of the classroom to check on some of the Slytherins and nod his approval, Ron made a little disgusted noise.  
  
"This is really gross," he whispered to Harry who nodded with a grimace.  
  
"I can't believe your brothers actually made this stuff for sport before."  
  
Ron grinned at the memory. While he wouldn't be caught dead brewing this potion outside of class, Fred and George had happily concocted some last year and slipped a bit into Percy's food. The ex-Head Boy had spent the next few hours looking like a very red Yeti as he flipped angrily through his books in search of the antidote. Ron felt it was a pity that he found it so quickly; he would've loved to see Percy's face if he had to go into work all covered in fur.  
  
A frightened squeak brought Ron out of his thoughts and he glanced back over his shoulder, frowning slightly. Neville had apparently gotten some indigent wrong again -- his cauldron was full of a neon pink, bubbling mixture which caused Snape's lips to curl. "Well," the Professor said, "It seems you've added too many drops of coriander oil." He eyed Neville for a moment before returning his gaze to the cauldron. "Since you seem unable to create the Furricus Potion as I've instructed you to do, let us see what you've made instead. Stick your hand in the potion, Mr. Longbottom."  
  
The class' stirring stopped immediately as everyone turned to look at Snape and Neville. A few Gryffindors were gaping -- Hermione looked positively horrified -- while the Slytherins were grinning, obviously expecting an interesting show. Hermione was the first to speak; Neville looked beyond words.  
  
"P-Professor Snape, please, his potion - "  
  
"I did not give you permission to speak, Miss Granger."  
  
"But his potion - "  
  
"Five points from Gryffindor."  
  
Hermione frowned at this, but continued. " - it's _boiling_, Professor! It wouldn't be safe."  
  
"Ten points. The bubbling is not caused by heat, but by the wrong proportions of the ingredients. I would not be surprised if Mr. Longbottom here had even added some things of his own accord that don't belong in this potion. Now, if you please, stick your hand in the cauldron," Snape said, dark eyes fixed on the quaking boy.  
  
Still madly shaking, Neville cast one last pleading look towards Snape -- as if that would cause the slimy git to change his mind, Ron thought angrily -- before tentatively sliding his fingertips into the potion, immediately jerking his hand out of it with a little whimper. As the class watched, long feathers, the pink colour of the potion, sprouted from his fingertips.   
  
Snape smirked. "Not exactly fur, is it? The Furricus Potion also has to be _ingested_; touching it is quite harmless. You may go to Madame Pomfreys after you clean up to be plucked, Mr. Longbottom," Snape said, whirling on his heels to go back to the head of the class. At his desk, he shot a dark look at the Gryffindors. "Back to work!"  
  
The Slytherins chuckled amongst themselves at this and Ron fumed, resuming his stirring of the disgusting potion. The class continued much on those lines; the Gryffindors scowling and trying to remember the ingredients to the different potions, not wanting to end up like Neville, and the Slytherins all looking very smug as they shot what seemed to be knowing glances to each other. Finally, _finally_ the torture ended and the bell rang. Gathering up his things, Ron quickly exited the room flanked by Harry and Hermione.  
  
"That was by far one of the worst Potion classes we've ever had," Harry said with a groan. "I'm sure I didn't make one of those things right."  
  
"You should've," Hermione scolded lightly, "We made them before. Didn't you study up on them afterwards?"  
  
"No," Ron and Harry said in unison.   
  
Hermione sighed and muttered something about 'boys'. "Anyways, I'm going to go to the library. I'm way behind in my History of Magic essay due next week."  
  
Ron made a face before sighing dramatically. "Ah yes, you only started three weeks in advance and now you have barely over seven da - " His words were cut off suddenly at the sound of books and parchment hitting the floor -- his book bag had split open. A few Slytherins laughed as they passed and Ron felt his ears burn as he bent down to pick it up, waving Harry and Hermione off. "I'll meet you in the library, go on."  
  
Harry frowned and looked like he was going to protest before Hermione tugged on his arm. "Come on; the fewer people around, the fewer pairs of feet that might step on his stuff. We'll see you in the library, Ron!" she called as she hauled Harry away.  
  
Ron waved distractedly, gathering up what he could in his arms and glancing around darkly. Why, he growled mentally, did everything he own have to be a piece of crap? Even his bag was second hand -- well, third actually. It'd been Charlies' and then Fred's. At least most of the class had already left, eager to get far away from Snape's dungeon. Ron sighed with relief as he made sure he had found everything though the feeling was sadly short lived; he realized he was missing his potions text book. This was odd, considering the thickness of the blasted thing and the fact that books generally didn't roll off by themselves (unless they were given to you by Hagrid). It was also very, very bad. Snape wasn't the type of professor to nod and understand -- if he found out Ron had lost his book, he'd probably make them take notes out of them the next class and collect them at the end to make sure he couldn't copy off of Harry or Hermione. And then his Mum's reaction.... He could just imagine the howler he'd get if he lost school supplies; George had been slightly deaf in one ear for a week after he and Fred had lost their Herbology books.  
  
"Looking for something?"  
  
That familiar, hateful drawl immediately jerked Ron from his thoughts. He froze, praying crazily for a moment that he was just hearing things.  
  
"Then again," the voice continued, "on your hands and knees is where you belong anyways."  
  
Ron growled and glared up from his spot on the floor. Malfoy, leaning casually against the wall, smirked smugly down at him. "Sphinx got your tongue, Weasel?"  
  
"_Weasley_," Ron said through gritted teeth. Of all of the houses, and of all of the Slytherins, it was Malfoy who had to stick around after Potions. Of all the rotten luck.  
  
"Whatever," Malfoy said carelessly with a roll of his eyes  
  
Ron growled again and found his footing, standing and straightening up to continue glaring darkly at the smaller blonde boy. "Sod off, Malfoy. I don't have time for you." All he wanted to do was to find his bloody book and catch up to his friends, even if the next hour was probably going to be filled with homework and Hermione's random lecturing.  
  
"Busy looking for something, are you?"  
  
Ron felt like he'd just eaten one of Hagrid's rock cakes. No way, he thought desperately, today can't be THAT bad. Hadn't he already had his fill of bad karma for the day? "You - "  
  
"Looking for this, in fact?" Malfoy said with a smirk, bringing a hand out from around behind his back, thick book in hand. He sighed heavily, shaking his head and tsking softly. "How sad. You couldn't even afford to buy a new one, could you?"  
  
"Could too!" The childish retort left his lips before his brain had caught up to stop it. Malfoy laughed, the noise decidedly unpleasant, much like someone dropping ice down the back of your robes. It had the same rather shivery effect.  
  
"Witty."  
  
Ron bit down on his tongue hard to prevent himself from saying anything else stupid -- most likely just 'Shut up' or 'Fuck off'. He stewed quietly, watching Malfoy watching him, waiting for the Slytherin git to either get bored of toying with him or for him to get to his bloody point, if he even had one.  
  
"I'll give it back to you," Malfoy said after a long, silent moment, his gray eyes glittering, "for a price."  
  
Ron considered briefly just striding over there and punching the bastard in the eye. There were a couple of problems with that plan though; his arms were still full of his other supplies and they were still near Snape's classroom. If Malfoy suddenly yelled in pain, Snape would swoop down like a bat out of hell and Ron knew he'd probably end up cleaning out bedpans in the Infirmary for a month. It really wasn't worth it -  
  
"Well? What do you say, Weasley?"  
  
- though it was becoming more tempting by the moment.  
  
"What the hell do you want, Malfoy?" Ron asked warily. It wasn't like he _had_ anything, unless Malfoy was in the market for really annoying owls or Chudley Cannon gear. And if Malfoy wanted a favour or something, Ron knew where he would tell that git to shove it. He wasn't going to do anything to Harry or Hermione or do something random to piss off Filch for Malfoy's amusement.  
  
Malfoy opened his mouth to speak, and Ron waited tensely, before he closed it again, eyeing Ron critically. "No," he said, running his eyes over Ron in a way that would've made him blush, had Malfoy been a girl. "No, I think you'd be too much of a coward."  
  
"What?"  
  
"Are you deaf as well as stupid? I said you're probably too much of a coward to do it."  
  
Punching Malfoy in the eye was starting to look like better and better. "Look, if you're going to tell me to jump off one of the towers or try to wrestle the giant squid or something stupid like that, then no, I'm not going to."  
  
Malfoy laughed and shook his head. "Despite how often I've wished you various bodily harm, that's not on my agenda -- at least not right this moment," Malfoy said. "Now... close your eyes and remain perfectly still until the count of 20."  
  
Ron blinked. Had he heard right? "What?"  
  
"Deaf as well as st - "  
  
"I heard you! But are you serious?! Do you really think I'll just stand here with my eyes closed? You'll probably hit me or curse me!"  
  
"I'm not going to do anything _bad_ to you, Weasley," Malfoy said patronizingly.  
  
Ron frowned at the Slytherin. "How can I be sure you won't?"  
  
"You can't be. Now, do you want your stupid book back or not?"  
  
Ron eyed the thick book, still in Malfoy's hands, and then the other boy again. Well, he figured, if he _does_ do anything to me, I can always get him back ten times worse. Hermione would help him look up nasty curses, hopefully, if Malfoy really got him. Sighing, Ron closed his eyes.  
  
"Start counting backwards from twenty. Slowly!"  
  
Ron gritted his teeth, the absurdity of the entire situation not lost on him. He was standing here with his eyes closed, arms full of books and work, like some sort of sitting duck, while taking orders from Malfoy! Still, he did as he was asked.  
  
When he hit fifteen, something strange happened which promptly made him forget what number came before that. What caused the horrible derailing of thought was simple; warm lips were pressed against his own.  
  
Worst case scenarios as well as various panicky little screams immediately filled his mind; optimism had never been one of Ron's strong points during days like these. The scenarios and mental images varied in their weirdness; Malfoy was kissing him and one of his little goons was taking a picture to show to Harry and Hermione with the intention of humiliating him. Malfoy was making either Crabbe or Goyle kiss him and getting some sort of perverted kick out of it. Ron shuddered at the thought of the last one and immediately began counting again, much quicker this time.  
  
Fivefourthreetwoone -  
  
Whoever was kissing him stepped back and Ron's eyes flew open, greeted with the site of Draco Malfoy looking like a cat who'd just gotten into the cream. "Not bad," he said smugly, "And here I'd thought you'd probably faint from shock or something." He dropped Ron's potion book on top of the other's in the teetering pile in his arms while Ron just looked at him, eyes wide. "See you in class, Weasley." With that, he turned on his heel and strode down the corridor.  
  
Ron stared after him, mind reeling in a mixture of shock, revulsion, and a few other emotions that made his stomach churn. Draco Malfoy had kissed him. He'd kissed him. Another boy. Not only that, but a _Malfoy_. And he'd... he'd....  
  
Next time he saw Malfoy, Ron vowed, he was going to break that bastard's jaw.  
  
  
  
(note : I do plan on continuing this fic, of course, though I'm not sure when the next chapter will be out. As I said before, it's been quite a challenge. No, this is also not one of those 'I need so-and-so many reviews before I post the next chapter!', though feedback is always welcomed and appreciated. Thank-you) 


End file.
